


A little brother’s honour

by Yeziel_Moore



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:39:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeziel_Moore/pseuds/Yeziel_Moore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a big brother job to look after his little brother. But sometimes roles were reversed. Loki had always taken care of Thor, this last time was no different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A little brother’s honour

Midgarians had a saying, or maybe it was a belief, Loki wasn’t sure and had never bothered to find out either way. They believed that, when they were moments away from dying, their lives flashed in front of them, the good and the bad but mostly the good times. Loki had never given it too much thought. Why would he? He was a god, he was immortal and as such he wouldn’t be dying anytime soon. Such foolishness was beyond him. Except that it turned out that he wasn’t a god even if he was indeed immortal thanks to the golden apples that every Æsir partook in.

Now, dangling from the middle of Gungnir and a hairbreadth away from a certain death, a distant part of Loki couldn’t help but remember that little tidbit of trivia.

It was ridiculous really, but as he shouted his desperation to Odin, begging him to understand his actions, his pain, his desires and his love he couldn’t help but remember. And when his Fat… when the All-Father denied him with a sad eye and a voice hard like steel, Loki knew that there was no climbing back from the abyss he had thrown himself into.

He remembered it then, but it wasn’t his life that flashed in front of his eyes. When Odin’s face blurred because of the bitter tears that had gathered in his eyes, it was Thor’s, his brother, face that flashed in his mind-eye. Thor, who was holding Gungnir and almost cutting himself with the blade with all the desperation of a starved man in front of a feast… or a big brother on the edge of losing his little brother. Thor, the Golden Prince of Asgard and the future King of all the Æsir. Thor, his best friend and his bitterest rival, the one he hated the most, the one he couldn’t help but love with all the extension of his wicked being.

Thor, his big brother.

He wanted to laugh at the irony then but only managed a half-chocked sound that was more like the wail of a dying animal than anything else. Yes, Thor was the eldest -he supposed, but with recent events he was not sure anymore- but ever since their earliest childhood it had been small and quiet Loki who had looked out for both of them because strong and glorious Thor never stopped to think about the consequences his actions would bring upon them. And it seemed that even now, dangling over his death, he would’ve to do it once more. For Thor, for the brother who shared not his blood, he would let go, he would sever the bond that tied them beyond blood or parentage.  

After all, which King needed or wanted a traitorous brother at their side? The answer truly was simple: no King needed such company, but Thor would pardon him and keep him at his side just because they were brothers. It was so much like Thor. It was unacceptable.

More tears escaped his eyes and dissolved into the infinite space beyond as his grip slackened and he slipped, inch by inch, until he was barely holding on from the butt of the spear. Odin’s eye widened in unveiled horror and Thor yelled something undistinguishable to his ears. He felt disconnected and ice cold, inside and outside. The hand that was still wrapped around Gungnir was numb. But the worse was his chest, beyond cracked and bruised ribs courtesy of Mjolnir there was a gaping and hungry nothingness where everything he had ever known used to be.

He didn’t want this, he hadn’t want any of this but now…  now… Loki swallowed the howl of agony that threatened to rip him apart from the inside and forced his hand to let go, knowing that even if he somehow survived the fall he would never be able to return to what was before because, as always, he had ruined everything, this time with his bare hands.

And as he fell he was somewhat surprised to notice that his life, or at least part of it, did indeed flash across his vision, filling the vast universe with warm moments spent talking with his lovely mother, learning from his impossibly strong father and gallivanting around with his oaf of a brother.

This time his tears and laughter flowed unimpeded and uninterrupted with nobody but the stoic Heimdall as witness to his grief, his agony, his madness and his relief.


End file.
